Those Days We Wish Had Never Passed
by BecauseToday
Summary: A collection of hetalia drabbles focusing on the relationship btwn FrUk and young Us/can A improptu adventure during a period of bad weather leaves al and matt caught in the middle of a storm
1. May Mornings

The sea roared, and Alfred heard its call, he grabbed Matthew from his bed before the sun boasted its shine in the sky, and they dressed in silence broken by excited giggles in the gentle dawn light. They left the house through the window and made their way to the shoreline to play together in the sand.

Their laughter carried in the vast space, and into Arthur's bedroom window, at the same time the sun sauntered into its place in the sky. He awoke gently, and slid from his bed. Suspicious at the faint noise, he padded softly into the boy's bedroom to find the beds empty and unmade.

Not quite worried about where they were, and too tired to be angry, Arthur returned to bed. He would properly scold them upon their return. He sighed to the hardwood floors, and both were resigned to the fact that the floor would be covered in sand in a few hours, to stick to his bare feet as he walked around and to make his food and drinks gritty with minuscule grains. And he would sweep and sweep for days, for the sand only to find itself back on the floor the next morning.

A bit later, the sun was at a modest height, and in the comfort of bed, Arthur heard the boys enter the house, whispering and giggling, he heard the floor complain under their small toes, heard the squeak of surprise from Matthew and chuckled at the sound of their feet pattering quickly against the cold floor as they ran to their bedroom. The house was drowned in silence, and Arthur counted his fingers silently, and when he reached ten, he was out of his bed with a jump, dressed and on his way into the kitchen to prepare the breakfast.

He fought with the kitchen valiantly, but was humbled as the pancakes that were more scrambled eggs than anything, burned and crisped like bacon, and tried not to despair as the smell of eggs and syrup filled the kitchen. He served the disaster on plates, poured orange juice into three glasses, and went to fetch his children.

The sound of laughter and play died suddenly at the sound of his footsteps and with a knowing smile, Arthur opened the door to find the boys in the wrong beds, panting heavily as they feigned sleep, their slaughtered pillows decorating the floor with a feathery blanket. Such excitement so early on a warm may morning, their hair was disheveled by their play, and Arthur could clearly see Matthew's curls sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Smiling to himself, He called their names, and the two awoke slowly at the first sound of their names, carrying on as if they were drowsy. Arthur crossed his arm over his chest and observed the children as they oh so miraculously recovered from their sleepiness with speed and practically bounced out of bed.

" It must be a miracle if you're getting up so quickly, Alfred" he remarked casually stifling his laughter as the small boy stiffened as he climbed out of bed. " Usually, I have to call and call.." Alfred gave a small smile in reply.

"And Matthew, Why are the clothes I set out for you in such a state? but I don't remember you wearing that yesterday…" Matthew gaped at Arthur, his mouth agape and blue eyes wide with surprise as he stood with one leg in his wrinkled and sandy trousers.

Arthur continued mercilessly, walking toward Alfred's bed, he pulled Matthew closer. The boy stumbled back onto his brother's bed as Arthur pulled his leg up to glance at the cuffs of his pants.

"Matthew, why are the bottom of your pants all grubby?"

The room grew silent, and the floor creaked as Alfred plodded over to join his brothers.

" Ah! You're right Iggy, they are all sandy. Did you go to the beach Matt?" he inquired innocently.

Matthew whirled to face his brother at the betrayal, his eyes had turned cold with hurt and anger, as he glared at Alfred. Alfred looked at him with mock confusion, yet his eyes were laughing. Turning to face Arthur, Alfred gave his older brother a bright smile.

" England, England~," Alfred whined "Matt did a bad thing, he went to the beach early without telling you."

Arthur returned the smile at the switch to formal names,

"America, you have sand on your neck. Do you want me to prepare the bath so you can wash that off?"

" that's alright, I can use a wash cloth"

"I'll get them out for you then"

"mmhmm, what are we eating for breakfast?"

" scrambled P-pancakeeegggs…"

"…?"

"How was the ocean?"

" OH, it was AWESOME! Me and matt waded in the water this morning, It was kinda cold, but it was okay, we had fun."

" So, you were at the beach this morning?"

Alfred blinked, he tried to ignore Matthew rolling his eyes at him. Sighing in defeat, he admitted his guilt, and the two took their scolding in sullen silence, recovered immediately, and bounded happily downstairs for scrambled pancakeeegggs. Arthur followed them wondering if they had really learned their lessons, and decided that their promise to not sneak out anymore is only valid for the day they were made. Sighing, he sat with the boys, and they began to eat.

Arthur cringed at the rubbery texture of the pancakes, but shrugged and ate it anyway, Alfred practically inhaled his food, and was looking slightly paled as he sipped his drink. Matthew had fearfully sampled a piece of the food, pushed his sickly sweet and strangely salty scrambled pancakeeegggs around a bit, and finally settled on the slightly charred muffins England had baked and his orange juice.

Arthur was left with the table filled with dirty plates, He looked wistfully at the place where Canada had been seated, again the boy had not ate well. Matthew had accidentally on purpose dropped his plate to the floor, and his pet bear had seized the opportunity to a free meal, and now lay convulsing and gurgling where he had dropped. When Arthur had offered to make him another, the boy had refused politely, and insisted that he was sedated for the moment, and had hurried out dragging a still pale Alfred along. Arthur cleared the table and carried them in the sink, as he washed the dishes, he watched the boys romp in the backyard, and smiled as he felt the sand cling to his bare feet.


	2. Nights

Endless, the night had blanketed the weary evening sky. The wind rolled in cold, too cold for the season, and although the moon mumbled its lullabies, Arthur was out. He relished the fresh air, and although it nipped at his exposed skin, he wasn't uncomfortable. He hummed to the partially hidden creatures darting teasingly in the far edges of his vision. Trying to frighten him, but he wasn't afraid.

As the first stars made shy appearances in the amethyst stained sky, he broke out in full song, harmonizing easily with the mystical creatures that joined in. Innocently daring him with the beauty of their voices. He met their challenge, and sang, voice clear to the crisp night.

And so he went, down the sprawling field bathed in moonlight. unaware of the footsteps behind him, belonging to children who were supposed to be in bed.

The boys walked a fair distance behind him, whispering to each other in languages tied deep to the shared land. Wrapped together in a quilt, they made their way after their brother. Toes numb as they touched the chilled ground.

Silent in the way children can be, broken by hushed voices.

Alfred clung to his twin, desperate for comfort against the frightening faint glimpses of creatures that were bound to storybooks. He shuddered, as he followed Matthew's eyes, wondering what his brother was so calmly tracking. Fireflies, he convinced himself. No matter what the season.

They followed the sound of Arthur's haunting hymn to the shoreline, and watched as their guardian agilely climbed up the large cluster of rocks. The same rocks he had repeatedly forbidden them to approach.

They frowned at the hypocrisy, but remained silent. Wide blues eyes straining against the shadows to watch their brother, their disappointment was great when Arthur sat, song dying on a gust of wind, the strange glowing disappearing with faint remains of bell-like laughter.

Already uneasy, The boys nearly shrieked at the sound of Arthur's voice.

"Come up already, you two." he called.

The children gazed up at him, seeking signs of anger in his voice. Alfred shuffled, huffing petulantly, Filled with boundless energy, enough to keep to him stubborn through the latest hours.

" No." it was mumbled, but the wind had quieted, and Arthur heard him. As their elder sputtered furiously, Matthew glanced at his brother, shaking his head at his brother's childish behavior.

He gave a small smile, then with a sudden whirl of movement, yanked the blanket away from his twin, and ran for the boulders.

Alfred yelped at the sudden exposure to the assault of wind, shivering, his head whipped up to where his brothers where. Matthew was already making himself comfortable in Arthur's lap. A bed of warmth in frigid land. Jealous, Alfred clambered up the rock, wincing as his hand touched the cold, rough surface. He missed the sun, and cursed the night for its shadows.

The wind suddenly regained its melancholy howl, and with a shout of fear, Alfred reached the flat top of the boulder, heart pounding and sweating, he scrambled on all fours to his family, huddling close to Arthur's broad back.

They sat there in quiet. Leaving the strong breeze to replace the words they had no will to say. Their inhales were silent, and their exhales broke the expansive sky with white puffs that lingered before disappearing. They shared nothing but heartbeats and their respective rise of bodies breathing.

Matthew had fallen asleep, and Arthur ran his fingers through the child's soft golden hair. His fingers traced the silky trail of his hair. Grown long with the ends slightly curved, waves and waves of soft hair. French, he thought regretfully. His finger glided along the long curl that grew long and stuck out in defiance of Arthur's and Francis' grooming.

Alfred felt the movements of Arthur's hands, and when he peeked to see what his father was doing, he was dismayed to see the man stroking Matthew's hair. Crawling around to Arthur's side, he noticed the man was lost in his thoughts.

Reminiscing about days that America would never know. Pouting, he watched as his guardian tenderly untangled his younger twin's tresses. Then with a huff of annoyance, leaned over, and set his head down on Arthur's lap with enough force to jar the older nation out of his thoughts.

Arthur jumped at the sudden weight on his lap, he glanced questioningly at Alfred. The boy glared at him, azure eyes dark in the night, impressive and eternal, even when shadowed by nightfall.

Alfred jerked his head toward Arthur's resting hand, and scooted closer. Without words, he conveyed his intentions, and with a chuckle, Arthur complied, placing a gentle hand on Alfred's rougher, straight hair.

The boy beamed his flawless smile, and closed his eyes as his father smoothed down his hair and whispered to him simple words America never realized he would later hunger for.

Many years later, Arthur would sit in his home, in the little room by the kitchen where every afternoon the sun came in magnificent to flood the floors golden. He would drink his tea, slowly to savor the sweet taste and gaze mournfully at the two seats that had been empty for quite a while.

Sighing, He would connect the fingers of his hand, and wonder a bit wistfully about the texture of golden locks, belonging to two precious children who had grown and left him.

Just as his heart began to pang with desire to go back to the simplicity of the days and nights marked by the quiet comfort of human contact, he would alert to his door ringing and to the boisterous noise of two young men coming to visit, arguing and shoving each other.

With a smile, Arthur would place his tea down, and go to answer the door, to let the children he missed enter. Together, the twins would joke, argue and chat in a way they had always done before. And he would enjoy their company frowning to push down smiles, and reprimanding to express praise. Contradicting, but his sons understood, they would laugh at him, and finally he would relax and smile, as he had done, back in the nights he had deemed too beautiful to miss indoors.


	3. Storms

**I'm tired of the rainy weather.. so here, its been raining nonstop where i live for the last ten days. please excuse any mistakes as this is not proofread :) enjoy.**

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June, and the rain seemed everlasting, perhaps that's why on the first clear morning of the week, Alfred had bounded out of the house, dragging a protesting and still drowsy Matthew behind him, the outside world was fragrant with the smell of nature drenched in life-giving water.

Relishing the sent of the land, his land, Alfred felt alive. As they made their way to the woods where Alfred had sworn he had seen deer, he could not reign back his excitement, boundless and crashing with the calmness of the dripping dawn, he filled the silent morning with his laughing voice. The ground took their weight too easily, heavy with water, it sunk at the weight of the boys, making their steps heavy and difficult.

Matthew complained, worried about damaging their clothing, Alfred heard him, and with annoyance, pulled his brother closer by the arm, kneeled down, yanked up Matthew's already damp and muddy trouser legs, and removed his socks and shoes.

He shoved them at this brother, and worked impatiently with his own. Finally barefooted, he snatched back Matthew's shoes, scurried up a tree, and left the shoes hanging by their laces from the branches.

"There! You happy?" Alfred asked when he had climbed back down, he paused waiting for an answer. When he received none, he continued on." Now, when we come back, we just climb up the tree, grab our shoes, and clean them by the river, alright?"

Matthew shook his head. "I don't want to go."

"Why not?!" Alfred demanded of his twin. " You're already all dirty! Let's go and have fun! Its been raining all week!"

Silence.

"C'mon, Mattie, you're being a pain! You're always doing this, I don't know why I even bother!"

The younger twin's eyes filled with tears, and the two brothers stood in awkward silence for a moment. Matthew's hands wiped at his tears, as Alfred waited for his brother's reply, Matthew struggled to compose himself, to let his meaning be clear. But he failed, and with a frustrated huff Alfred turned around and began to walk away.

" Well, I'm going anyways, If you want to go home so bad, you can get your own damn shoes from that tree."

Matthew took a breath as his head pounded. He was always far more sensitive to the weather than his brother was. Unnerved by the clouded sky, He glanced up at the tree, and realized it was an impossible height for him to try and ascend, he wasn't as athletic or as brave as his brother. He weighed his options, return without his shoes and face Arthur's wrath alone, or follow his brother on his adventure and pray for the best.

Considering that without him, Alfred would never remember to grab their shoes, and that Arthur's mood had been foul for the last few days with Francis visiting. Matthew

wiped away the last of his tears, and began to trudge after his brother. Grimacing, as the mud squished between his toes, he hurried to catch up with his brother.

They were halfway into the woods, when the skies threateningly darkened . The sparse sunlight had been replaced with an threatening dark gray covering. The atmosphere was still, and unnerving. Tranquility without the peace. The calm frightened Alfred, he glanced worriedly up at the ominous ash dyed expanse. He winced at the start of a headache.

His breath caught, and suddenly the surrounding trees and shrubbery were too close, suffocating, and he felt trapped. At the mercy of earth, the air was thick, he felt slow, he whirled to face his brother, Matthew looked unwell. Pale, and sweating, Matthew was flushed with fever.

The morning had become a false night. Dangerous and raging.

The hair on Alfred's neck and arms rose with primal recognition. Seek shelter or face nature's fury. This close to the river, floods were common place.

As he grabbed Matthew, the wind picked up, roaring, it whipped violently, shaking the trees with strength that humbled Alfred, and made him afraid.

The first rumble of thunder, and he was carrying Matthew on his back, running full speed towards boulders he instinctually knew could provide dry shelter. As the rumble turned into a full deafening clap, the foreboding sky began to lament. The rain stabbed the already hydrated ground forcefully, the sound of it, an incensed hiss.

The gusts of wind were intense, wailing, it thrashed all that was in its path. As the first lightning flashed, and the world had darkened further, Alfred had finally reached the shelter, in the dark indent of stone, he sat his brother down.

They were drenched, but out of the rain. Sighing dispiritedly, Alfred slunk to the floor next to Matthew. He glanced at his younger brother, his twin had his eyes closed shut. Worried, he reached over and placed a hand on his brother's forehead. The younger boy was hot, but was already recovering. Canada opened up an eye at the touch, and glared at his brother accusingly.

"This is all your fault…Al, you idiot…" he mumbled weakly as he began to unbutton his shirt. Alfred promptly smacked him hard on the head.

"Ow! America!"

" Don't call me an idiot, stupid!"

" Well, it's all your fault we got caught in this storm!"

" It's your fault for not telling me you didn't feel good!"

" I TRIED! You knew I was trying to!"

"DID NOT! You're always such a baby, how am I supposed to know?"

Matthew groaned, he shook out of his drenched shirt, and threw it at Alfred. "Ugh! I'm so sick of you! I hope you know our shoes are ruined now. Thanks, Genius."

"You're welcome, wimp."

Matthew kicked him and Alfred retaliated by punching him in the arm hard. They got into a small scuffle that ended with Alfred yanking hard on Matthew's stray curl of hair until his brother cried out. When Matt was released, he kicked dirt in Alfred direction, all the while spewing a flurry of French curses, then stomped to the other corner of the shelter, where he sat and began to sniffle.

Alfred watched Matthew sullenly, already feeling guilty for fighting with his brother. It didn't make him feel heroic or awesome. He was freezing, and missed his brother's added warmth. He thought of the shoes, as Matthew had said, the rain had most likely ruined them. England would punish them when he found out.

His pout deepened at the thought of an angry Arthur upon their return. Alfred had snuck out without permission, knowing full well Arthur would not have consented to them playing outside in the wet. The day had been ruined, the deer he had so desperately wanted to see had most likely traveled out of the area already.

He glanced toward the entrance of the cave, the downpour was still heavy, it would be impossible to walk home through the storm. Arthur was probably up, and tearing apart the house looking for them. He would probably drag Francis out of bed and demand that he help. Forcing the Frenchman to venture out in the foul weather to look for them.

Alfred glanced at the bleak sky, despite the current dilemma, he felt suddenly calm. Assured of the resilience of his land, He felt at ease in the warmth of the cave, he glanced over to his brother, and nearly panicked when he couldn't spot him, his eyes scanned the corner and finally spotted Matthew blending quite nicely with the surroundings.

He tried to make eye contact with his sibling, but Matthew shifted and turned, ignoring him. Alfred frowned, getting on all fours he crawled through the dirty cave floor, littered with dirt and other debris to his brother, He peered around Matthew's shoulder, leaned his face close, and grinned apologetically.

Blue eyes nearly identical to his own glanced fleetingly at him, before whirling to the wall again. Alfred pulled back only to reappear on Matthew's right. He contorted his face trying to make his twin laugh, but Matthew's eyes were averted downward, refusing to look.

He paused for a moment, frustrated at his lack of progress, then had an idea. He grabbed a few dirt clods piled them onto of a rather flat slate of stone, then grabbing his brother by the shoulder, twirled him around to face his creation.

"Francis" Alfred began in his best imitation of Arthur's accent, his voice was comically strained and dramatic, " WHY. Are. YOU. Not. Eating.?" he inquired dangerously, gesturing his 'meal', mimicking Arthur's hyperventilating way of talking when he was agitated.

Matthew grinned and broke out in laughter.

"Mon cher," he replied forcing down his giggles, trying to imitate France's smooth fearful way of confronting Arthur about his cooking escapades " I would rather not die. I hope you did not cook this, abomination, in the kitchen."

" And. If. I. Did?"

Matthew clattered up to his feet, his face was pulled to a mock expression of mortification and primal fear.

"THE FUMES WILL KILL MON FILLS! MATTHIEU!!!!!!!!!GET OUT OF THE KITCHENNN!! MATTHEIIUU!!!!" he shouted in perfect imitation of the high pitched, overly dramatic voice France had used last night, when said accident had happened.

"Very amusing, But I do not sound like that" Francis stated stubbornly.

Francis.

The boys whirled around at the voice, there in the shelter's entrance stood a drenched Francis in a rather flashy rain parka, Matthew gave a cry of relief and ran straight into Francis' arms. The man promptly picked his son up to shower him with affection. Alfred trotted over cautiously, he peered behind Francis, and sure enough there was Arthur a few paces behind, huffing and out of breath. He noticed Alfred, and his face betrayed his relief. When the empire reached his colonies, his face had flushed with anger.

Francis spotted Arthur moving as furiously as the storm outside towards Alfred, and with a smile he danced into the Englishman's path, shoved the younger twin into England's arms, before fluidly turning around to lift up America. The boy gave him a grateful glance, and gave Francis a heartfelt apology when the nation gently chided him for the trouble he had caused.

With the quiet Matthew in his arms, England's anger diffused. The child immediately sensed the situation and began to piteously point out every injury he had obtained and describe how ill he had been. Arthur cooed and comforted him, all the while shooting Alfred and Francis meaningful glares.

Francis rolled his eyes at the Englishman before turning his attention back to the small colony. He placed the child down and began to try his best to wipe some of the caked on mud off Alfred's clothing. With a inward groan, he noticed that not only were Americas trousers ruined, but both children were mysteriously barefooted. Alfred watched him worriedly, glancing up, France offered him a small smile.

"I'll take of it, Mon lapin" he whispered before turning to Arthur " Pass me a jacket for Alfred. Also, Hurry and prepare Mathieu, the river will swell and it will do no one good to stay drenched in this wind."

Arthur obliged, tossing Francis the requested item, he knelt down, and began to help the smaller child dress. Francis finished faster, and with a mischievous grin, he lifted Alfred up onto his shoulders, and briskly walked past England, giving him a small shove as he did. Arthur gave an angry squawk, and whirled around only to find the Frenchman already gone.

Walking towards home, singing one of his ridiculous French songs meant to excite and entertain small children, voice beautiful and flowing, right through the pouring anguishing skies. Alfred, a spot of green among Francis flashy red coat, perched high on his shoulders, giggling happily despite the ugly weather.

A timid tug on the edge of his coat brought Arthur back to the task at hand, Matthew had finished with his buttons, and stood with hands splayed out asking without sound to be carried. Arthur lifted him, and balancing the child on his hip, sighed, and began to follow the sound of singing,

The walk home was not easy, but they enjoyed it. Walking with the wind humming along, and the rain pattering with easy rhythm, they reached home as the last of the storm passed, and the heavens breathed gently, the rain, steady but slow, flowed down the swollen earth, slowly, and peacefully. They passed the tree where the boys had left their shoes, and England had somehow managed to reach them without climbing up for them. He gave no explanations, and they asked no questions.

Finally home, they bathed the children, and sat in the den, Matthew at Francis's knees, polar bear in his iron grasp, as the Frenchman combed his hair.

They spent the day in exhausted quiet, too tired to light the candles, they allowed the dimness of weather keep the shadows in their house. It grew late, and the day had been wasted, but none of them mourned it. Arthur had fallen asleep with Alfred tightly attached to his arms.

Francis sipped at his cocoa then finally exhausted, he pulled a dozing Mathew to his lap, stole Arthur's blanket and left him to the couch as he made his way to Arthur's bedroom with Matthew. He returned for Alfred, detangled the child from his guardian with difficulty, and stood considering Arthur for a moment. He groped the man for a while, dressed his face with light kisses, and then with an extra touch of evil, placed Arthur's hand in a cup of water.

A promise of entertainment to break the monotony of stormy weather**.**


End file.
